


Siren Song

by eacala



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Eventual mommy kink, F/F, Lesbian AU, eventual D/s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-07 21:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19093459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eacala/pseuds/eacala
Summary: Welcome to the story no one asked for. Heed the tags!





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brooke Lynn owns a burlesque club, Vanessa is a college senior, and job interviews aren't quite as awful as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not necessary to read [Pressed For Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19069117) before this, since that story is set after the end of this one and is literally just porn, but you can consider it an overture. If you don't read it, just know that this fic will eventually contain all of the themes in that one, namely Domme!Brooke and sub!Vanessa, and mommy kink. It's also going to be pretty smut heavy in the later parts. Additionally, I'm using the age difference tag, since I widened the gap - Brooke is canon age, Vanessa is 21.
> 
> I'm doing it. This is who I am now. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Brooke Lynn squints into the morning sun, shifting her car into park. If she never saw 9 AM again, she wouldn't miss it. There isn't enough americano and nicotine in the world to get her through this day.

 

Her phone chimes.

 

_The applications are on your desk, in order of interview time, and the music is already queued up on the tablet. Don't look bored, don't accidentally insult anyone, and do not hire anyone without consulting me._

 

She smiles. Nina knows her too well. Brooke might be the boss, but Nina is her conscience, her backbone, and a little bit her mother, all rolled into one amazingly tolerant stage manager.

 

Brooke doesn't do interviews. She doesn't do people, period, but interviews are their own particular realm of torture. She's not an actress, she can't fake an interest in 25 virtually identical candidates, all way too eager to talk about their final projects and their love of traditional interpretive dance and their fucking childhood inspirations.

 

She sighs. She's already over it.

 

She manages to light and smoke a cigarette to completion in the time it takes her to walk across the street from her car to the entrance of the club. That might be her new record.

 

A few dancers are already up on the stage when she walks in. They don't open for hours, of course, but some of the girls like to use the space for rehearsal, and Brooke doesn't care as long as they don't burn the place down.

 

"Boss is in early, sound the alarm!"

 

Brooke gives a half a smile, waving up at Yvie, who's sitting on the stage with one leg hooked behind her head.

 

"Interviews," Brooke explains, surprised at the rasp in her voice. She clears her throat, shaking off the sleep and cigarettes. "Nina's got the plague."

 

Her office is upstairs, past the VIP booths on the balcony that overlooks the stage. She forgoes the overhead light for now, instead sinking into her desk chair and switching on the much gentler reading lamp.

 

As promised, the resumes are in a neat stack in front of her. She halfheartedly picks up the top one, sees the term "self-starter" and rolls her eyes. Let the nightmare begin.

 

* * *

 

Vanessa steps off the bus outside Sirens, fishing in her purse for her mirror. She knew she should have taken an Uber, that bus was sweaty as fuck. She dabs at her hairline with the back of her hand, sighing at her reflection. Her makeup is as good as it's gonna be.

 

As she reaches for the door handle, she hears music coming from inside. She's a bit early, but fuck if she's standing out in the sun letting her foundation melt just to be polite.

 

There's a dancer on stage, probably another audition. There are girls sitting around the club on various couches and chairs in what look like dance costumes, chatting with each other, some of them stretching.

 

At the center of the room stands a tall, blonde woman, dressed all in black, arms folded across her chest as she watches the girl on stage. The lanky girl with the shaved head in the lounge chair nearest to the blonde is the first to notice Vanessa, nudging the blonde and pointing.

 

The blonde woman turns toward the door and sees Vanessa standing there, now frozen in place.

 

"You're my two o'clock interview?" she calls over the music. Vanessa nods. The woman holds Vanessa in her stare for a few beats longer than she's expecting. She wants to squirm.

 

"You're early," the blonde woman says, expression inscrutable.

 

Vanessa flushes. "Sorry, the bus--"

 

"Have a seat at the bar," the woman instructs, gesturing across the room and turning back to the stage.

 

Vanessa does as she's told, crossing the club floor as quickly as she can and hopping up onto a barstool.

 

She figures there's no point in pretending she's not gonna watch the girl on stage, considering everyone else in the room is, so she swivels around to observe the competition.

 

The chick is pretty good, obviously nervous but technically strong. Vanessa can't bring herself to focus on the performance, though, because her eyes keep straying back to the blonde woman at the center of the room.

 

She's not even _doing_ anything, she's just standing there, arms crossed, heeled boots planted on the floor, looking like sexy scary Wonder Woman or some shit. Vanessa figures she must be Nina, the one who set up the interview.

 

The song ends and the dancer finishes her performance, looking slightly awkward in the ensuing silence.

 

"Good," the blonde says dispassionately, "You can get changed, we'll talk when you're done."

 

The girl scurries off stage and disappears through a side door, and the blonde woman turns to talk to the bald chick in the lounge chair. Front on, she's even harder not to stare at. She really is built like Wonder Woman, all curve and muscle, her tank top showing off the definition in her arms and shoulders and the tight black denim of her jeans hugging her hips.

 

Vanessa is so caught up staring, she doesn't realize the woman is staring right back at her, smirking, until it's far too late.

 

Mercifully, the side door opens again, and the girl who'd been auditioning emerges, this time in jeans, her costume balled up in her arms. She approaches the blonde cautiously, and Vanessa can tell Wonder Woman is not responding to the timidness. Duly noted - not that Vanessa was ever going to give that kind of impression.

 

"I'll talk with Nina, we'll be making our decision in about a week." So Wonder Woman isn't Nina. "Thanks for coming in."

 

A polite handshake, and the shy girl is on her way.

 

Wonder Woman pulls her phone from her back pocket, thumbs flying across the screen as she walks toward the bar.

 

"So you are…" she puts her phone down and takes the top sheet off a stack of papers. "Vanessa Mateo," she finishes, then arches one eyebrow. " _Miss Vanjie_."

 

"I'll answer to both," Vanessa says, unfazed by her cool tone. "And, y'know, a lot of other things."

 

Wonder Woman gives a lopsided smirk at that, casting her an appraising look.

 

"Good," she declares, then reaches out her hand. "I'm not Nina."

 

Vanessa shakes her hand, nodding. "I heard."

 

"I'm Brooke Lynn."

 

She knows that name. Brooke Lynn…

 

"Brooke Lynn Hytes. You're the owner."

 

Brooke Lynn flashes her a dazzling smile. "That's me."

 

"Great to meet you, Miss Hytes." Vanessa says, hoping she's forgotten about the inappropriate gawking from about a minute and a half ago.

 

Brooke Lynn waves her hand, dismissing the formality and pulling up a stool next to Vanessa.

 

"Call me Brooke," she says, glancing down at Vanessa's resume. "You're a dance major?"

 

Vanessa nods. "In my senior year."

 

She waits for a follow-up, but Brooke just nods and puts her resume down on the bar.

 

"So other than being a student and needing money, why did you apply at Sirens?" she asks, fixing Vanessa with that killer gaze.

 

Refusing to let it shake her, Vanessa sits up a little straighter.

 

"I mean, I don't gotta tell you that you're the best game in town, right? I know some girls who've worked here and I know you hire dancers from a lot of different backgrounds. I was always into burlesque but I never thought I had the right style for it, so like, this is a really cool opportunity. And I like your whole vibe, you know? Plus I've heard this place is pretty popular with women, and that's fucking awesome."

 

Brooke doesn't even react to Vanessa's cursing. "Have you ever been to one of our shows?"

 

Vanessa shakes her head, "I just turned 21 last week."

 

Brooke grins, "So you're a good girl."

 

"Only when I gotta be."

 

It's with a feeling of triumph that she realizes she's taken cucumber-cool Brooke somewhat off guard with that; she tilts her head, regarding Vanessa with pursed lips, her eyes twinkling.

 

"I think we should get this audition started, Miss Vanjie."

 

Vanessa takes a breath, glancing around the room at its other occupants. Brooke follows her gaze.

 

"We do trial by fire here at Sirens," she says.

 

"So they really all just gonna sit and watch me?"

 

Brooke shrugs. "If you're good they will."

 

Needing no further prompting, Vanessa hops off the barstool and makes her way to the stage. She's acutely aware of Brooke Lynn stalking slowly toward the center of the room, her gaze burning a hole in Vanessa's back as she hastily sheds the loose cotton dress she wore to cover up her glittery red leotard.

 

"The tablet on the edge of the stage there should have your music on it," Brooke tells her. Vanessa picks it up, scrolling through the playlists until she finds her song. When she looks up, Brooke has taken her position again, arms crossed, watching Vanessa with at least a degree more interest than she did the last chick.

 

"Whenever you're ready."

 

Vanessa's routine is high energy and intense, basically her personality in the form of choreography. It's her standard audition with a little extra sexy thrown in, just to prove she can fit in at a club like Sirens, even if she sort of dances like a boy.

 

She keeps her eyes on Brooke Lynn whenever she can, watching her reactions, watching the smile slowly spread across her lips, watching her pull her phone from her pocket and follow Vanessa across the stage with it.

 

Near the end of the song, she swears she sees Brooke's hips shimmy to the beat for a second, but the next time she looks, they're still.

 

Vanessa is glad that her routine finishes with her on the floor, because the time it takes for her to stand back up covers some of the deafening silence that follows the end of the music.

 

When she glances around the room, a few of the girls are nodding in vague approval, which she figures is better than nothing. Her eyes settle back on Brooke Lynn, and she waits.

 

It seems to take way longer for her to say anything than it did when the shy girl was up here - but maybe that's just the effect of being captured under the gaze of Brooke Lynn Hytes.

 

When she finally speaks, it's with a grin. "Miss Vanjie did not come to play, did she?"

 

Letting out the breath she'd been unconsciously holding, Vanessa laughs in relief, wanting to melt at the praise. Instead, she puts a hand on her hip and gives a snap, causing Brooke to snort in amusement.

 

"Put your dress back on and we'll talk," Brooke tells her, her attention already back on her phone.

 

Down at the side of the stage, Vanessa slips her dress over her head, making sure Brooke isn't watching as she picks up the hem, dabbing hastily at the beads of sweat on her forehead.

 

She strides back over to Brooke, remembering the girl from before and making sure to keep her eyes up and her posture straight as she approaches.

 

Up close like this, Brooke completely dwarfs her. She's easily over six feet in her heels, and she stands with her shoulders back, taking up as much space as she can. Vanessa tries hard not to think about how the sexiest woman she's ever seen in her life might be her next boss.

 

Brooke slips her phone into her back pocket and motions for Vanessa to follow her to the bar, away from the other girls, most of whom are now watching them with interest. Vanessa gets the impression that Brooke doesn't react like that to a lot of these auditions.

 

Back at the bar, Brooke turns to her.

 

"This isn't an easy job. You're looking at a lot of late nights, and you put your body _through_ it, and then some. It's really fun, and really hard, and _really_ fucking lucrative. If you want it, it's yours."

 

Vanessa meets her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose.

 

"I want it."

 

Brooke smiles, offering Vanessa her hand to shake once again.

 

"Welcome to Sirens, Miss Vanjie."

 

* * *

 

Nina wakes with a pounding headache and her phone blinking a notification at her. Squinting, she picks it up. There's a message from Brooke Lynn.

 

It's a video of a petite woman with curly dark hair flipping and kicking her way across the Sirens stage in red sequins, looking for all the world like a tiny comet pinging around the room. Underneath the video is a text.

 

_Does this count as a consultation? Because I'm hiring her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering, this story will NOT contain any boss/employee romantic interactions. We'll be dealing with that obstacle in the next installment, which is shaping up to be quite a bit longer than this one, so I'll aim at having it up around this time next week.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> <3 Eacala


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vanessa learns what it means to be a Siren, and develops a serious problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! This chapter is long, and dense, and covered in my blood. (That's only a slight exaggeration.) We had to get a few things out of the way before we move on to the good stuff.
> 
> Thanks again for all the love y'all left on the last part, I really can't express how much your comments mean to me. They helped me over a few blocks this week, so honestly, it helps more than you know.
> 
> This is so unbeta'd it would be embarrassing if I had any shame left. I just can't look at it anymore. (But seriously, if you find any actual incomplete sentences or misplaced editing notes, do let me know.)
> 
> Also if you saw that misfire post, I apologize. Grandma doesn't understand the difference between posting a series and adding a chapter, which caused some formatting fuckery that I'm just accepting, because I need to move on with my life.
> 
> Happy reading!

Working at Sirens is every bit as intense as Brooke Lynn had promised.

 

It's hard, and the hours are long, even before she becomes an official cast member. Sleep quickly becomes a luxury Vanessa can scarcely afford. What little free time she once had is now spent rehearsing at Sirens, or otherwise, on the bus getting to and from the club.

 

She feels a little out of her depth around the other girls, if she's honest. She's not one to get intimidated easily, but there's a lot of talent on the Sirens cast, and Vanessa occasionally finds herself wondering how she managed to hustle her way into their ranks.

 

Nina, who she meets on her first day of rehearsal, seems to serve as the heart of the whole operation - "the anti-Brooke Lynn", as the others affectionately describe. She also fills the role of stage manager, talent coordinator, and therapist to anyone who needs a shoulder. The entire place would obviously come to a grinding halt without her, and it's easy, sometimes, to forget she's not actually the boss.

 

Vanessa hasn't laid eyes on Brooke Lynn since her interview. She's not sure if she's disappointed or relieved.

 

Nina makes it clear to Vanessa that she can have more time to prepare before she joins the cast, but Vanessa's always been a head-first kind of girl. She dives in on her first weekend.

 

She’s a ball of nervous energy that first night, sitting at a makeup station and touching up her lipstick unnecessarily, waiting for Nina to call her for her first number. She tries to focus on the other girls, chattering all around her.

 

“Nina, where’s Silky? I need her to crack my back.” Yvie is draped upside down over the couch, limbs splayed every which way.

 

Nina glances down at her clipboard. “Probably in the wings, she’s up after Brooke Lynn.”

 

Vanessa looks at Nina through the mirror. “Brooke Lynn? She’s performing?”

 

“That’s her music playing, so I sure hope so,” Nina smiles.

 

Nodding, Vanessa stands up, crossing the room as casually as she can. No one seems to be paying her any mind as she slips out into the hallway. She hears Ariana Grande blasting over the speakers and pushes the backstage door open a crack, just enough to give her a side view of the stage.

 

Brooke is practically poured into a black leather catsuit, stalking up the runway and dropping into the smoothest split Vanessa’s ever seen. She watches, feeling her face heat, as Brooke slinks across the floor, arching her back, kicking out her long legs, staring down every person in the front row like she’s performing just for them. It’s not until she pulls herself back up to her full height that Vanessa realizes she’s in pointe shoes, stomping the stage on her toes like it’s no big thing.

 

“She’s fucking amazing, isn’t she?”

 

Vanessa jumps, looking over her shoulder to see Nina smiling fondly up at Brooke.

 

“Unreal,” Vanessa croaks, her mouth going dry. She turns her attention back to Brooke Lynn, hoping to file a few of these images away.

 

“She was a ballerina for fifteen years,” Nina says behind her, “She gave it up and bought this place, but she couldn’t stay away.”

 

Vanessa can see why. Brooke is queen of the world up there, and there’s not an eye in the place that’s not on her. Vanessa herself is rooted to the spot, just as captivated as everyone else in the room.

 

The song ends and Brooke, still en pointe, starts to collect her tips. It's going to take a minute; at least half the crowd has approached the stage with cash in hand.

 

Nina is still there when Vanessa turns, only now she’s looking at her with a knowing smile.

 

“I gotta go get ready,” Vanessa mutters, averting her eyes as she skirts around Nina, grateful that her stage makeup is heavy enough to cover up how brightly her cheeks are burning.

 

Back in the dressing room, she sits at a makeup station, looking at her reflection sternly. _Focus up, bitch._

 

The door swings open again, and Vanessa looks up to see Brooke sauntering in, grinning and waving handfuls of cash.

 

“Mommy's buying dinner tonight, girls,” she announces, depositing an absolute windfall into the safe in the corner of the room.

 

Sitting on Vanessa’s left, A’keria sees Vanessa watching.

 

“Boss always gives us her tips,” she explains as Brooke stands with Yvie, throwing her head back in laughter at something she's saying. She tugs her mask off, her long hair tumbling out over her shoulders.

 

“How often does she perform?” Vanessa asks, staring openly as Brooke stretches her arms over her head, rising up onto her toes again, the black leather of her catsuit hugging every curve.

 

“She usually does a number or two on the weekends,” A’keria says, dusting her face with powder. “Why, you want a schedule?”

 

Tearing her eyes away from Brooke, she sees A’keria watching her in the mirror, eyebrow arched delicately.

 

“Just wondering…” Vanessa says, cheeks burning again, picking up her lipstick and dabbing at her lips with it.

 

“Mmhmm,” A’keria says, looking dubious. She leans in a little, her voice low. “Listen baby, you wouldn’t be the first girl to try it, but that’s what we call a black diamond slope.”

 

Vanessa wants to sink into the floorboards, staring resolutely back at her own reflection. “I’m not trying anything.”

 

“ _Mmhmm_ ,” A’keria says again, glancing over her shoulder at Brooke. “Well, for anyone you know who might be _thinking_ about trying something, maybe tell them to stick to watching her dance. There’s a whole lot of noise going on under all that barbie hair. Trust me, baby, you do not want the headache.”

 

Vanessa’s eyes wander to Brooke again, goofing around with Plastique and Yvie, bubbly and animated, so different from the cool, intimidating woman who hired her.

 

Vanessa's not stupid, she's not going to go after her boss. She's probably never going to stop staring at her, though. That would require a level of self control she does not possess.

 

She doesn’t see Brooke again for the rest of the weekend, which is just as well, because she’s having enough trouble getting over that performance without adding any more fuel to the fire.

 

Monday arrives too fast and after too little sleep. Slumping into a seat at the back of her Modern Theory class, Vanessa scrubs a hand over her eyes. She thinks about the stack of money that Nina handed to her as she left Sirens last night. Who needs rest when there's wads of cash? That'll get her through the day.

 

Whether it’s the exhaustion or what, she can’t stay focused on the lecture. She tries to take notes, but her mind keeps wandering. It shouldn’t surprise her that Dangerous Woman is playing on a continuous loop in her head.

 

Conceding defeat, she puts down her pen, figuring the class is a wash at this point anyway. She’ll catch up on the reading tonight. After a nap, probably.

 

She opens her laptop, brings up Google, and finds herself typing “Brooke Lynn Hytes” into the search field, as though her fingers have completely stopped communicating with her brain. She clicks on the video tab and skims her eyes down the list.

 

Most of them are clips from Sirens. Dangerous Woman is there a few times, obviously that’s a popular one. Further down the list, though, Vanessa stops recognizing the song names, and the costumes get less racy, more classic and pretty. She clicks on one of them, turning the sound off and watching it in silence.

 

It’s a ballet routine. Brooke Lynn looks young, probably mid twenties. She’s a little thinner, too, looking impossibly slim and tall in her costume, a sparkling white leotard with a tutu, with a feathered fascinator attached to her tight bun.

 

It’s strange to see her like this, looking so soft, floating across the stage, twirling and leaping and smiling demurely at the audience. Vanessa would hardly know it was the same person.

 

She can’t stop after that. She spends the rest of the lecture combing through every video she can find, watching each one on mute and getting more and more enthralled with every clip. She finds an old biography page on a studio’s website and learns that Brooke grew up in Toronto, started dancing when she was fifteen, and is a self-described crazy cat lady.

 

It’s not until the girl sitting next to her stands up that Vanessa realizes the class is over, the professor already gathering her things. She feels her face heat; she’s been staring at one of Brooke’s old modeling shots for at least a minute. She’s going in the wrong direction, she’s supposed to be getting over this crush, not feeding it.

 

She shuts her laptop with a sigh. If only she could go get laid and get this shit out of her system. But who's got the time?

 

Brooke's phone buzzes on her desk, startling her. She looks up from the order forms, grateful for whatever the distraction might be.

 

 _Halloween show group number rehearsal, 5pm,_ her calendar tells her.

 

"Shit," she says aloud to her empty office, running a hand through her hair. Her gym bag is at home.

 

Downstairs, a few of the girls are already gathered on the stage, getting warmed up.

 

"Who's tall and has sweatpants I can borrow?" Brooke calls to them as she descends the stairs.

 

With permission to rifle through Yvie's things, she walks back to the empty dressing room. She finds a pair of grey sweats and sheds her jeans, pulling them on. She pulls off her shirt, too, figuring she'd rather lead rehearsal in her bra than sweat into her only change of clothes for the night. It’s not like there's anyone here who hasn't seen her in less, up on stage every weekend.

 

She's standing in the mirror, gathering her hair up onto the top of her head, when she hears the back door bang open. She looks up to see Miss Vanjie barreling down the hall, breathing hard, her arms full of bags and books, her expression frantic.

 

Brooke grins, opening her mouth to greet her, but Vanjie beats her to it.

 

"Fuck I'm so sorry I'm late," she says in a rush, stumbling into the room and dropping her things on the couch. "So fucking stupid, I was up all night writing this paper and the bus was so fucking hot and I fell asleep and missed--"

 

"Vanjie," Brooke interrupts as she twirls her hair into a messy bun, snapping an elastic over it haphazardly. "We haven't even started yet, babe. Are you telling me I actually hired a punctual dancer?"

 

Vanjie sighs. "I try." She blinks a few times, her gaze sweeping over Brooke's body like she only just realized who she's talking to. "… you're leading rehearsal today?"

 

Brooke has to chew on the inside of her cheek to suppress her grin.

 

"We've got some new choreo to go through for the Halloween show," she explains, watching Vanjie's cheeks flush as she averts her eyes.

 

"Cool," she says, sounding anything but, digging through one of her bags and pulling out some clothes. "I, uh... " she clears her throat, waving a t-shirt in her hand, "I gotta change."

 

They stand there in silence for a beat, and it dawns on Brooke that Vanjie is asking for privacy. "Sure," she says, moving toward the door. "See you out there, Miss Vanjie."

 

Group rehearsals at Sirens are always pandemonium, and Brooke is not the most patient teacher in the world, but her girls are good enough that she rarely has to be. Even with such a wide variety in dance styles - not to mention personalities - they're all quick studies, and they take their jobs seriously when it counts. They wouldn't last here if they didn't.

 

Vanjie, for her part, fits right in, both with the work ethic and with the pure chaotic energy of the group. She already seems to be bonding with some of the girls, laughing and goofing around with Silky and A'keria like she's known them all her life.

 

Brooke leads them through the routine a few times, then sets them all to work once they start to catch on, joining them on stage and walking between them. She doesn't have to make a lot of corrections, just giving a few demonstrations when she's needed, repositioning an arm here and there.

 

Nina arrives at the club as Brooke is guiding Plastique through a trickier part of her solo. Brooke waves, but Nina just smiles and takes a seat at the back of the room to watch.

 

Brooke turns her attention to Vanjie then, watching her for a moment before she approaches her from behind.

 

"Good," Brooke says, placing a gentle hand on Vanjie’s hip. "You've got the timing, let's just…" Brooke moves with her, guiding her through the motions a little more fluidly.

 

"... smooth it out a little," she finishes, her thumb slipping just above Vanjie's waistband, a tiny point of contact with her flushed skin. "Just like that."

 

Brooke glances out across the room and sees Nina watching them with an appraising look. Brooke sticks her tongue out.

 

"Perfect," she says to Vanjie, her voice low. "That's great, Vanessa."

 

She moves on to Yvie then, but she's still watching Vanjie out of the corner of her eye. Whether it was the praise, or the contact, or the name, something's got her flustered. This girl's liable to make Brooke do something stupid.

 

After a few more laps around the stage, the bartenders start to arrive to set up for the night, so Brooke dismisses the girls to go get ready.

 

"Should be a good show," Nina says, approaching the stage.

 

Brooke nods, hopping down to the floor. "I think so," she says, watching Vanjie, Silky, and A'keria goofing around as they file off stage.

 

"Will you need two more sessions?" Nina asks her, looking at her phone.

 

"Nah, one should do it," Brooke says, shaking her hair out of its bun.

 

"Next Wednesday at noon?"

 

Brooke sighs. "I _suppose_." That's an early day for her.

 

Nina gives her a fond smile. "I'll bring you a coffee, diva."

 

Brooke spends most of that night in her office, the faint beat of the music outside the only thing keeping her sane through the mountain of clerical work she's been procrastinating for weeks. She rarely gets to actually watch any of the performances at her own club.

 

She's hitting send on an email to their ad service when she hears the end of a song she knows is one of A’keria’s. Brooke glances down at tonight's program, scanning until she finds the name she's looking for.

 

Against her better judgement, she finds herself standing from her desk and walking out onto the balcony. She's just in time to see Vanjie take the stage.

 

Nina, standing off to the side, looks up and spots Brooke leaning on the railing. She waves, miming a drinking motion with one hand. Brooke nods.

 

She doesn't recognize Vanjie's song, but it suits her, a fast tempo and a driving drumline propelling her across the stage. The audience is hooked from the first kick, some of them already approaching the stage with tips.

 

Looking up, Brooke sees Nina coming up the stairs, a drink in each hand.

 

"She's good," Brooke says, indicating Vanjie, cartwheeling down the catwalk and landing in a split, much to the delight of the crowd.

 

Nodding, Nina hands her a glass. "She's great, actually. You made a good call."

 

"I usually do," Brooke says with a smirk, taking a sip of her whiskey. Nina swats at her arm, rolling her eyes.

 

Turning back towards the stage, they watch the rest of the number in silence. Vanjie finishes with a death drop, flinging her tiny body to the floor so hard it should leave a crater.

 

Brooke feels Nina's eyes on her again.

 

"She likes you."

 

Brooke grins, watching Vanjie stand up and start to collect her tips, mouthing a 'thank you' for every single one. "I know."

 

Nina sighs, "Yeah, I know you know."

 

Brooke looks at her. "What, I should be oblivious? She's not subtle."

 

Shrugging, Nina swirls the ice around in her glass. "Maybe just don't hit on her?"

 

"Oh fuck off, that was choreo," Brooke says, a little defensively. She polishes off her drink, her eyes following Vanjie as she leaves the stage, high fiving Yvie before she slips through the backstage door. "Come on, how many times has this happened? I'm just playing. I'll be good, I promise."

 

"I know, I know," Nina says, throwing her arm around Brooke's shoulders affectionately. "Must be tough to be such an irresistible fucking goddess all the time."

 

Leaning her head on Nina's shoulder, Brooke snorts. "I don't know how I manage."

 

Vanessa has a problem, and it's nine feet tall with blonde hair.

 

She actually has a couple of problems, she thinks as she hoists her backpack onto her shoulder and her laptop bag onto the other shoulder and picks up her gym bag with the hand that's not holding her phone, typing out an email to her honors advisor. The nine foot blonde feels like the most pressing issue at the moment, though.

 

She wouldn't wish the 2am bus on her worst enemy. It takes well over an hour for her to get home like this, and any other night, she might have fallen asleep. Not tonight, though. Not with the memory of Brooke's hand on her hip, Brooke's low voice in her ear. _Perfect… that's great, Vanessa._

 

Fishing her phone out of her pocket, she brings up her YouTube profile, navigating to the private playlist she's been curating since Monday. She hits play. Yeah, this is a problem.

 

She's so caught up, rewatching the Dangerous Woman video for at least the fifteenth time this week, that she very nearly misses her stop.

 

"Hey!" she shouts, springing up from her seat and quickly gathering her things as the driver starts to pull away from the curb. "Hey, hang on, this is me."

 

The driver waves up at her, looking annoyed, as he stops again and opens the doors.

 

"Thank you," Vanessa calls, stumbling out onto the sidewalk with her bags piled into her arms. She makes her way up the stairs to her place.

 

Everything she's holding is dropped as soon as she steps through the door. She looks around, taking in the dishes in the sink, the unmade bed, the textbooks and papers strewn across the coffee table. Studio apartments don't leave a lot of room for untidiness, and her life doesn’t leave a lot of room for housework.

 

Leaving her jeans in a heap on the floor, she launches herself onto the bed with a sigh. She needs to sleep, she knows this. She has to be on campus by noon and back at Sirens by 5. She could get a solid six hours of sleep right now, and that's more than she's had in weeks.

 

Or she could bring up another video of Brooke Lynn on her phone.

 

She selects her current favourite, the one where she's in nothing but a nude, glittering swimsuit, slinking her body across the stage to yet another Ariana Grande song.

 

As she watches, Vanessa's hand finds her hip, fingers stroking over the spot where Brooke had touched her earlier that day. Her fingers were long, curling around Vanessa's hipbone as she guided her through the movement. The memory of Brooke's voice, soft and low, is still echoing in her head.

 

 _Smooth it out a little…_ Vanessa's fingers play at the elastic of her panties, and she bites her lip. She knows this is fucking stupid. She should delete this playlist, roll over and go to sleep, and in the morning she'll be rested and maybe even a little more rational. That's what she should be doing.

 

Fuck it all.

 

She slides her hand into her panties, unsurprised to find herself soaking wet already, her toes curling at the barest touch of her clit.

 

On screen, Brooke is on the floor, her hands roaming her body. Vanessa swallows, mouth watering as she starts to rub herself, wasting no time.

 

When the performance ends, Vanessa drops her phone to the mattress, closing her eyes. She slips one finger into her pussy, remembering how much longer Brooke's are, how they curled around her hip, how they'd reach so much deeper inside her as she held Vanessa with that stare, the one that makes her feel like she's being read like a book.

 

"Brooke Lynn…" she whispers to the empty room, shivering at the sound of the name in the air, parting her legs and imagining Brooke is right there between them, fucking her with a couple of those long, slender fingers. She'd probably be smiling - she's always smiling, always so sure of herself - whispering encouragement and praise, leaning down to Vanessa's ear like she did in rehearsal, but now she whispers _Such a good girl, Vanessa._

 

"Shit," Vanessa gasps, the waistband of her panties cutting into her wrist and she couldn't give a fuck. Images of Brooke shuffle through her mind like a rolodex, and she brings her free hand up to her mouth, muffling the crescendoing cries spilling from her lips.

 

Her orgasm hits her like a fucking truck, fast and inelegant and over too quickly, her back arching off the bed as she strains her arm, forcing her fingers in as far as they'll go and still feeling that ache inside. It barely scratches the surface of her need, this savage lust that's been growing inside her ever since she first laid eyes on Brooke Lynn.

 

The playlist is still going on her phone. With trembling fingers, she picks it up and presses the lock button, letting it fall to her chest and sighing up at the ceiling.

 

She needs an intervention.

 

*********

 

The next weekend at Sirens is on another level entirely.

 

Yvie twists her ankle doing some sort of a back handspring, and Nina and Brooke insist that she take the weekend off, despite her strenuous objections. She makes up a huge chunk of the regular Sirens program, so her absence means everyone is pulling double duty.

 

By Sunday night, Vanessa can barely make it up the stairs to her apartment.

 

She manages to sleep clear through her alarm on Monday, waking up still in her clothes with precisely seven minutes before she misses her bus to campus. She makes it, but barely, tearing down the sidewalk with her arms full of books and her empty backpack trailing off one arm.

 

“Hey,” she says to the bemused bus driver, fumbling with her pass and trying not to drop anything.

 

Sinking into the nearest seat, she lets it all tumble from her arms onto the seat next to her. Her phone chimes in her pocket, and she takes it out to see an email from Professor Edwards.

 

_Hi Vanessa,_

 

_Your proposal for your final project was due in the dropbox by midnight on Friday, but I’m not seeing a file from you. Note that there is a 5% late penalty per day. Please submit as soon as possible._

 

Vanessa’s heart drops into her feet.

 

“Fuck fuck fuck fucking _shit_ ,” she whispers, fingers trembling as she types out a response, promising to submit it by the end of the day. She was working on it all week, how did she forget to send it in?

 

With the email sent, she looks out the window. She bites her lip, her eyes stinging, digging her nails into her palms to try and stop the tears from flowing.

 

She’s just so fucking tired, it’s starting to make her crazy. The last few weeks have turned her into a tardy, sleep deprived, forgetful, crying-on-the-bus kind of bitch, and that’s not her.

 

Something’s got to give, and she knows what it is.

 

She looks at her phone again, opening her messages and scrolling down to find Nina's name. She can't do it over a text, but she can at least get to her before she starts the program for the weekend.

 

_Hey Nina, I'm so sorry to do this, but I'm swamped. I know it's a lot to ask, but could you leave me off the program for Thursday and Friday this week?_

 

Nina's response is almost immediate.

 

_No sweat, honey! Everything's okay, I hope?_

 

Vanessa stares at the message, then closes it without reply. She can't believe didn't even last a month.

 

By the time she gets to rehearsal on Wednesday, she's managed to work herself into a very respectable panic. She's only really had to quit one job before, and telling her 17 year old manager at Krispie Kreme to shove his donuts up his ass hardly feels comparable to this.

 

Brooke is in a mood today, or at least, as much of a mood as Vanessa's ever seen her in. She cradles an enormous cup of coffee to her chest and she keeps turning the volume down on the music, telling Nina it's too early for techno.

 

"Okay, you know what?" she says to the group, slumping into a chair. "You guys are fucking awesome, let's just do a few clean run-throughs, and if everyone's comfortable, we'll call it a day. Good idea, Brooke Lynn."

 

Her phone starts to ring, and she groans.

 

"It's that Lacey chick from the ad agency," she says, showing the screen to Nina.

 

Nina nods, waving her away. "Take it, I'll finish up here."

 

Brooke disappears up the stairs to her office, leaving them with the far more calming presence of Nina standing in front of them.

 

"Is everyone down with Brooke's plan?" she asks, picking up the iPad.

 

Everyone nods and shrugs in vague approval. Nina is scrolling through the playlists for the song, and Vanessa takes her opportunity while the other girls are stretching.

 

"Can we talk when we're done here?" she asks in an undertone, crouching next to Nina so no one else can hear.

 

"Of course, Vanj," Nina says, looking up from the screen. "Everything alright?"

 

Vanessa can't think of a response that wouldn't be a lie, so she just nods, rejoining the other girls and taking her first position.

 

Two more times through the song, then a third for good measure, and Nina declares them all perfect angels. She dismisses the others to go get changed, and gestures for Vanessa to follow her up the stairs.

 

Vanessa glances over at the open office door, but Nina leads her to one of the booths instead.

 

"So what's up?" Nina asks as they sit down.

 

"I, uh…" Vanessa clears her throat, suddenly wishing she had planned something to say. Nina watches her expectantly.

 

"I don't think I can do this job," she says in a rush, unable to meet Nina's eyes.

 

"I'm really sorry to hear that, Vanjie," Nina says, and sounds like she means it. "Can I ask why?"

 

Vanessa chews on the inside of her cheek, trying not to get upset.

 

"It's just too much," she admits, her voice small. "I missed a deadline for an assignment this weekend and I didn't even know it until my professor emailed me on Monday."

 

Nina cringes sympathetically. "That's really rough, I'm sorry."

 

"It's just… it takes me almost two hours to get here on the bus, so I don't get home until 4 on the weekends, and I don't work well when I'm sleep deprived, and it’s starting to affect my work. School’s gotta be my top priority. I’m so sorry.”

 

She looks up from where she's been studying her hands, and over Nina's shoulder is Brooke Lynn, standing in her office door with her arms crossed. Nina follows Vanessa's gaze.

 

"Hey," she says, motioning Brooke over to them. "Miss Vanjie has some bad news for us."

 

"I heard," Brooke says, approaching, her expression utterly unreadable.

 

Vanessa finds herself unable to look at her, focusing instead on Nina, who's still smiling kindly.

 

"I'll still do the show this weekend," Vanessa says, "I'm in the group stuff and I'm not gonna leave you high and dry for that."

 

"Whatever works best for you," Nina says  glancing at Brooke. Brooke gives an almost imperceptible nod. "We can work it out if you don't think you can do it, it's only a little choreography."

 

"No, I can do it," Vanessa says quickly. It's bad enough that she's quitting, the least she can do is go out on a good note.

 

"Okay then," Nina says, "so we'll call Saturday your last day with us, how does that sound?"

 

Vanessa wants to hug her for making this so painless. She wishes she could have gotten to know Nina more.

 

"That sounds good," she says, only lying a little, finally offering a small smile.

 

"Well Vanjie," Nina says, standing and offering Vanessa her hand, "We're really sorry it didn't work out."

 

As Vanessa shakes Nina's hand, she steals a glance at Brooke Lynn, who's still watching their exchange impassively.

 

"I am too," Vanessa says sincerely, "Thanks for… everything, honestly."

 

Nina smiles, "Anytime."

 

"Um, I've got class, so…"

 

"Oh, don't let us keep you!" Nina says, stepping out of her way. "We'll see you on Saturday, Vanjie."

 

As Vanessa descends the stairs, she looks back, taken off guard when she sees Brooke watching her, her head tilted towards Nina, nodding at something she's saying. She doesn't even flinch when she's caught staring. Vanessa looks away immediately, knowing without a doubt that Brooke is watching her until she disappears from sight.

 

*********

 

By Saturday, Vanessa has already almost completely caught up on both school work and sleep, and she knows she made the right call, as much as it sucks to walk into the Sirens dressing room and know it's for the last time. At least she’s rested, and looking at the light at the end of the tunnel, which as it turns out, makes it a lot easier to relax and actually enjoy herself.

 

For once, Brooke Lynn spends most of the night with the cast. It means that Vanessa gets to watch her doing her makeup, warming up for her number, getting wrapped up into a mummy costume that's barely a costume at all, more a series of glittering straps that barely cover her body.

 

Vanessa doesn't even pretend she's not going to watch the performance. Feeling bold, she follows Brooke and Nina to the stage. She hangs back a few feet, but she doesn't wither when Brooke casts her a curious glance.

 

"Break a leg, boss," she grins, leaning against the wall with a clear side view of the stage.

 

What's the difference at this point, anyway? She might as well soak it all up while she can.

 

No matter how many times she sees Brooke dance, it’s never lost its impact. And it surely would have happened by now; that YouTube playlist is practically worn out, she's been through it so many times. Brooke Lynn only has to walk across the stage - and tonight she's doing it en pointe - for the crowd to be eating out of her hand. There's so much power in the way she moves her body, every step is a declaration.

 

The best part, though, and the part that took Vanessa the longest to pick up on, is how sublimely, deliriously _happy_ Brooke Lynn is when she's up on stage.

 

It's hard to catch, because she doesn't always show it with a smile, but after watching enough performances (and Vanessa hit that threshold weeks ago), it’s visible in every movement. She's completely free when she's dancing, uninhibited, supremely confident. It's irresistible to watch. It's like looking at the sun, except Vanessa doesn't give a fuck that she's going blind, as long as Brooke Lynn is the last thing she sees before it happens.

 

She retreats back to the dressing room as soon as the music ends. She's feeling bold, but that doesn't mean she's ready to face Brooke after that, her face hot and her hands trembling, arousal making her stupid.

 

Back on the couch, she pulls her phone out of her bag, scrolling absently through Instagram as she waits for her heart rate to return to normal.

 

Brooke waltzes in after a moment, buzzing with post-show adrenaline and handing her tips off to Nina to secure in the safe. Brooke stretches, rising onto her toes, doing a slow pirouette as she scans the room. Her eyes fall on Vanessa like a laser sight.

 

She throws herself onto the couch, way closer to than she needs to be, her arm stretched along the back behind Vanessa's shoulders.

 

"You're really gonna leave all this, huh?" She asks, flashing a toothy grin. She's still a tiny bit out of breath, and her cheeks are flushed. Vanessa doesn't think she's ever seen anything so fucking exquisite in her life.

 

Jesus. It really is a good thing she's leaving; she's like a fucking lunatic over this woman.

 

"Afraid so, boss," she says, turning her eyes back to her phone, if only to stop herself from staring at Brooke's mouth.

 

" _Boss_ ," Brooke says, thoughtfully. "Not for much longer though, right?"

 

Vanessa can't help but look at her then, can't keep her mouth from falling open. Brooke is smirking at her, eyes sparkling.

 

"I guess not," Vanessa manages, her mouth dry.

 

Brooke nods, apparently satisfied with that answer. She glances around the room and spots Nina waving her over.

 

"Don't be a stranger, Miss Vanjie," she says, rising to her feet and casting one more dazzling grin over her shoulder before she leaves, swaying her hips because she fucking _knows_ Vanessa is watching her walk away.

 

*********

 

Vanessa thought that quitting Sirens was the end of a chapter in her life, but she'd obviously misunderstood the universe's message. Quitting, as it turns out, is where it all starts.

 

There's a woman living rent free in her mind.

 

Vanessa can't stop thinking about Brooke Lynn. The free time she regained when she quit the club is occupied almost entirely with that stupid YouTube playlist, which grows by the day. Brooke has had a prolific career, and Vanessa could probably write the book on it at this point.

 

She thinks she might have been able to shake it, she might have managed to move on, once she left the club and got some distance. But Brooke wouldn't allow that.

 

_Don't be a stranger, Miss Vanjie._

 

It might be the sexiest thing Vanessa's ever heard.

 

Friday evening, she's in one of the school's private studios, working on her term project, when her phone chimes in her bag.

 

It's a notification from the Sirens page. She opens the post to see the night's program.

 

Brooke is on at 10.

 

It's like she's fucking possessed, because it never once occurs to her that she should maybe just unfollow the page and move on with her life. Instead she packs up her things as if on autopilot, her brain never offering any alternative. She's obviously going to Sirens tonight.

 

The club is already packed when she arrives, and she's grateful for it. She's not at all prepared for the possibility of running into one of her former castmates, or worse, Nina or Brooke. She picks a seat at the back of the room, trying not to feel too much like she’s doing something wrong.

 

Brooke told her not to be a stranger, but she definitely feels fucking strange.

 

There are only a few numbers before Brooke takes the stage. Vanessa's face heats as she hears the into to God is a Woman, recalling in vivid detail just what kind of reaction she had the last time she watched this performance.

 

Vanessa squirms in her seat as Brooke starts to dance, her glittering nude bodysuit and soft makeup a bit of a departure from her normal style. Even like this, though, there’s no mistaking the power in her movements, her body flowing like water with the slow, sensual beat of the song.

 

Once or twice, Vanessa swears Brooke looks straight at her, but she knows for a fact that the stage lights wash out the back row - which is precisely why she sat here.

 

Brooke finishes on her knees at the end of the catwalk, one hand in her hair and her fingers drawing delicately across her lips. There’s half a beat of silence before the cheering starts, like the whole audience has to come back to its senses before it can react.

 

With the song over, reality comes rushing back up at Vanessa like someone cut the strings on her parachute. She just took a two hour bus ride to sit and watch a woman dance for three minutes. It would be less pathetic if she stayed for a drink, poked her head in and said hi to the girls, but she suddenly feels like a caged animal, frantic.

 

Burning with shame, she bolts. The bus gets her home by midnight, and she climbs into bed, chastising herself. This is pathetic. She cannot be this girl.

 

Except she can be, and she clearly is, because the next night she's back again. Only this time, she gets a little braver, orders a water from the bar and finds a seat closer to the middle of the room. She might as well have a good view for her descent into madness.

 

As quickly as that, it becomes her weekend routine. She studies on the bus, just to make herself feel a little better about how much time she's spending on it. Just to help her justify the insanity.

 

She still hasn’t worked up the courage to actually say hi to anyone at the club, but she knows Brooke knows she's there, making no effort to hide her self-satisfied grin when she spots Vanessa in the crowd each night. It bolsters her somewhat, the knowledge that her presence is apparently making Brooke happy.

 

Soon enough, Vanessa has taken up residence in one of the wingback armchairs in the front row. She's completely lost the ability to feel shame - uncontrollable lust has eclipsed it. Brooke keeps her in her sights the entire time she performs, and Vanessa is nothing but her prey, pinned and squirming, breathless for every movement.

 

She snaps out of the spell each night when Brooke Lynn leaves the stage. She flees the club immediately, keeping her head down until she's sitting alone on the bus, finally content after her fix. She’s like an addict, though. She’s never satisfied for long.

 

One Saturday, she finds herself at Sirens a little earlier than expected, with some time to kill before Brooke performs.

 

She orders a water from the bar, turns, and collides with Nina.

 

"Vanjie!" Nina says, pulling her into a hug. "Girl, I've been meaning to say hi, everyone said they've been seeing you around!"

 

Vanessa blushes.

 

"Yeah, I caught a few shows…" she says, embarrassed. This whole thing probably would have been less pathetic if she’d just found the courage to speak to someone while she hung around the club like a really incompetent stalker.

 

"I heard," Nina says, her eyes twinkling knowingly. "But… just specific parts of them, right?"

 

Vanessa's face is going to catch fire.

 

Nina sees her struggling to respond, and claps a bracing hand on her shoulder.

 

"It's okay," she assures, leaning in with a smile. "It happens to the best of us."

 

She leaves her with that, joining Silky and Yvie in the wings, both of whom wave up at Vanessa cheerfully when Nina points her out.

 

She waves back sheepishly as she makes her way to the front row, dropping into her favourite wingback with a sigh.

 

Yvie and Silky's double act leads into the intermission. The club is packed, so Vanessa stays where she is. Brooke is up next and she's not giving up this view.

 

She kills the time on her phone, answering emails, coordinating schedules with her classmates, sending off a few half-assed applications for on-campus job postings that she really doesn't want but definitely needs. She can't live on the dwindling pile of Sirens tips forever.

 

A song starts pumping out of the speakers, and Vanessa looks up from her phone to see Brooke slinking up onto the stage, wearing nothing but a few black straps across her body. Her eyes find Vanessa in the crowd immediately and she smiles, wolfish, as she starts to dance.

 

The music is intense, the bass deep and hard, making the air shiver. Brooke's hips hit every beat, and she looks straight at Vanessa as she mouths the words _I'm the bad guy_ , and fuck if Vanessa doesn't believe it.

 

Brooke stalks to the end of the catwalk and Vanessa expects her to drop into a split, but instead she hops off the end, landing on the floor like a cat in six inch stilettos. She stalks forward, glancing ostensibly around at the rest of the crowd, but really she's cornering her prey.

 

Vanessa is paralyzed, rooted to the spot and afraid to so much as breathe when Brooke plants a foot on her seat, and she finds her eyes trailing up Brooke's smooth inner thigh, over her abdomen, her barely-covered breasts, drinking in every last inch of skin.

 

Brooke dips low, drawing her fingers along Vanessa's jaw and leaning in. She feels Brooke's lips on her cheek, a hot gust of breath in her ear.

 

"Stick around this time..." Brooke says, barely audible over the pounding bass. When she pulls back, she holds Vanessa's gaze for a beat, waiting to see if she got the message.

 

Vanessa nods, mesmerized with Brooke's face so close to her own. Another second and she might lose control, grab Brooke and kiss her -- but Brooke is straightening up already, turning and casting one last look over her shoulder before she glides back up onto the stage.

 

Vanessa feels other people in the crowd looking at her, casting curious glances at the girl who managed to capture the attention of the woman who's got everyone else's. She couldn't give a fuck, though, not when Brooke is still staring her down like she's the only person in the room.

 

The song ends, and Brooke collects her tips, never taking her eyes off Vanessa for longer than a few seconds. Finally she leaves the stage, holding one finger up with a smile and disappearing through the backstage door.

 

Vanessa lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding as she watches the door close. Needing to do something with her hands, she stands and approaches the bar.

 

"Hey, it's Vanjie, right?" the bartender asks, and Vanessa nods. She can't remember his name for the life of her; she can't remember anything but the feeling of Brooke's breath in her ear.

 

"We were sad to see you go," the bartender is saying, barely cutting through the fog. "Can I get you something to drink?

 

"Water," Vanessa says automatically, then thinks better of it, "No. Vodka soda."

 

She glances around the room, barely seeing anything. Jesus, she's nervous. What the fuck is she doing?

 

A glass is placed on the bar in front of her, and she fishes in her bag for her wallet, but the bartender holds up a hand.

 

"Dutch courage is on the house tonight," he says, his eyes straying towards the door that Brooke disappeared through. "You look like you need it."

 

Vanessa feels her face heat, but she smiles, finding a five in her purse and stuffing it into the tip cup on the bar. "Thanks," she says gratefully, and downs half the drink in one.

 

Turning to face the room, she glances down at herself, picking halfheartedly at her frayed jeans and worn out old t-shirt. She wishes she'd thought to wear something cuter.

 

In the corner of her eye, she sees a sliver of light appear as the backstage door opens. Brooke emerges in the only clothing Vanessa has ever seen her wear when she's not dancing -- black boots, black jeans, black tank top.

 

Her eyes narrow as she scans the room, finally spotting Vanessa at the bar, lips curling into a smile that could only be described as predatory. Vanessa feels like she's pinned to the spot as Brooke approaches her, hips swaying as she walks.

 

"Miss Vanjie," she says, and she doesn't stop until she's so close Vanessa has to look up to maintain eye contact. Brooke puts one hand on the bar behind Vanessa, leaning even closer and pursing her lips. "We sure are seeing a lot of you for someone who quit because she didn't have time for us."

 

Vanessa can smell her perfume. She's in her stage makeup still, her eyes dark and her full lips painted a dusty rose.

 

"What can I say, it's a good show," Vanessa says, unreasonably proud that her voice is still steady. Brooke smirks and Vanessa matches it, staring into her calculating eyes.

 

"It must be, for a two hour bus ride," Brooke says, one hand traveling slowly down Vanessa's arm, fingers caressing her skin, making her shiver. She feels the glass being lifted from her hand, and watches as Brooke brings Vanessa's drink to her lips, taking a sip. "Now why would you put yourself through two, three times every week, Miss Vanjie?"

 

"You know why," Vanessa replies, voice low, eyes lingering on Brooke Lynn's mouth, her tongue darting out across her lips in a way that could have been unconscious, but almost certainly wasn't.

 

Brooke sets the glass down on the bar and Vanessa feels a hand on the small of her back, pulling her in until there's barely room for breath between them. Her pulse quickens and she feels heat pooling in her belly.

 

"Do I know?" Brooke asks her softly, searching Vanessa's eyes.

 

It takes a second for it to dawn on her that Brooke is waiting. She wants Vanessa to do it. She's going to make Vanessa the one who's responsible for her own destruction.

 

"Fuck," Vanessa mutters, bringing a hand up to Brooke's neck, rising up onto her toes to close the gap between them and finally press their lips together.

 

Brooke kisses like she does everything else; like she knows she's fucking good at it. She doesn't cede control for long, threading her fingers through Vanessa's hair and gripping lightly, just enough to keep her where she wants her. She takes it slow, easing off each time Vanessa tries to press forward, the fingers tightening in her hair and holding her back.

 

Finally relenting, Vanessa lets herself melt against Brooke Lynn, and only then does the kiss deepen, Brooke's body surging against her, pressing her back to the bar. Brooke's tongue flicks at her lips and she parts them, letting her in, meeting it with her own and whimpering at the soft, wet tease of it. Her fingers tighten on Brooke's neck, free hand coming up to touch her waist, smoothing around to her back, feeling the definition in the muscles, wishing she could map every one.

 

With a scrape of teeth across her lower lip, Brooke breaks the kiss, and Vanessa would be a puddle on the floor if Brooke wasn't pinning her against the bar.

 

"Well, Miss Vanjie," Brooke says, her voice low, thumb stroking over Vanessa's cheekbone.

 

"Vanessa," she breathes, licking her lips and tasting Brooke's lipstick.

 

Brooke smiles. "Vanessa," she repeats, husky, and Vanessa feels her knees tremble just from the sound of her name rolling off Brooke's tongue. "Wanna see my office, Vanessa?"

 

Chewing on her lip, she meets Brooke's eyes. Her better judgement is clawing its way through her arousal, A'Keria's warnings echoing in her ear. _That's what we call a black diamond slope._

 

Finding Brooke's hand on her hip, she threads their fingers together.

 

"Fuck yes," she says, and lets Brooke Lynn lead her toward the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh nooooo, how could I stop there?! (Because this chapter was long enough.)
> 
> Next time, there will be porn. The kind with two participants.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> <3 Eacala


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